


Interlude

by falsteloj



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 04:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10655244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsteloj/pseuds/falsteloj
Summary: It’s a sin, and Charles knows it.





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [havisham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/gifts).



> Smut Swap 2017 treat for havisham - Male Soldier/Male Soldier, WW1 setting. :)

It’s a sin, and Charles knows it. But so is the act of murder, and he has seen so much of that he doesn’t know how he will ever function again in civilized society.

How he will sit in his mother’s parlour - should he be lucky enough to make it home to see it again - and talk of trifles and sundries, his mind’s eye full of death and the squalor of the trenches. She writes him letters each week, full of froth and tales of his sisters’ antics, and he pens replies as equally devoid of the true horror of the situation. He describes the beauty of the distant French scenery, and enquires after inconsequentials like whether or not her roses have bloomed, and the welfare of his dog.

It doesn’t matter here, nothing does but survival, but he cries when he receives the news, all the same. Bitter, helpless tears for a dumb animal who had doubtless forgotten him anyway.

Evans approaches him carefully, does not draw undue attention, and Charles is so ashamed of his behaviour he cannot meet the man’s eye. Is so embarrassed to be caught acting like a child that he brushes off his concern and his kindness, and curls in on himself when he comes off watch that night, wishing he could have done things differently.

He wishes that he were simply different. That he dreamed of girls with delicate complexions and women with handsome features. That he had any interest in the brothels the other men availed themselves of or, at the very least, he could summon up the energy to pretend that one day he might do.

Because he and Evans would not have been chums in peace time, he thinks miserably. When this is all over they will not be friends either, class and convention dictating how long they may speak, and on what topics.

It is an ugly thought, almost physically painful, and he is wondering whether the system they have is really so worth fighting for when the order comes for a fresh charge. He does his best, gives it his all, and he can almost swear the sound of his name on Evans’ lips is the last thing he hears, even over the whistle of the bullets and the roar of the shells, before he gives in to the blackness.

He comes to in a field hospital, the fear and the adrenaline continuing to hold him in their grip for long moments until a hand on his shoulder grounds him firmly in reality. It’s Evans, blood stained and wounded, but there is a broad smile on his face and he feels one curl across his own features in response, at Evans’ incredulous,

“We made it. We really made it.”

They get patched up, given a day to recuperate, and then it’s back to the front. Back to the mud and the stench, and Evans seeks him out the night word of a new advance makes its way along the line.

This time, perhaps, they won’t be so lucky.

It shows on his face, maybe, and in the tension of his posture. Evans does not look unaffected either, and they do not exchange a word as they gravitate towards a darkened corner. As their mouths find each other, the taste of Evans beneath the filth and the grime enough to take his breath away.

Evans fingers find his jaw, tender and tentative, and the simple touch sparks something within him. Makes his heart twist and his skin burn, and his own hands clutch tightly at the back of Evans’ uniform, pulling him closer.

He loses himself in it. In the slick slide of Evan’s tongue against his own, and the hand that curls around his hip, pushing him back even as Evans pushes forward, the evidence of his own need hard and aching as they grind against each other.

“I want,” is all he manages, breathless and desperate though the slightest noise could give them away, and Evans hitches him up into his arms, work developed muscles straining. His legs hook around Evans’ body, instinctive, and his arms wind around his neck, tugging at his thick dark hair. They rock together, the rhythm as old as time, until he is desperate. Until his limbs are quivering and he wishes it would never end, even as his movements become over eager and uncoordinated.

As tears spill down his cheeks and as he reaches completion, making a mess of his uniform.

Evans groans, kisses him still harder, bites down at his lower lip hard enough for it to sting, and then they simply breathe into each other, skin damp with sweat and exertion. Pull apart slowly, his legs unsteady as they take his weight again, and Charles cannot help but break the silence.

“When this is over, when we are free, I’ll find you.”

Evans only smiles at him and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. Brushes down his uniform and reports for watch duty, while he sits awake all night and imagines idealised visions of the future.

When it is over, when he is once again a functioning part of society, he keeps his word.

Runs his fingers over Evans’ name chiselled into the cold memorial stone, and wonders if Evans would have done the same for him had their fates been opposite.

Knowing how it hurts, understanding the finality, he truly hopes not.

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


End file.
